Shadows Never Die
by Meepa
Summary: He comes to her every night, and every time she breaks just a little more. Yami no Malik x Isis Ishtar (Fearshipping). FFC 9 3/4, round 3


**Disclaimer**: I don't own Yu-Gi-Oh!.

Warnings: Gore, death, and incest.

* * *

It was a horrible bottom-out feeling, complete with the sensation of Isis' stomach dropping. It was as if her skull were full of icy liquid that broke out and washed down her spine and through her limbs, and when it reached the very tips it splintered all over. It felt as if her heart had literally stopped.

Before her lay her family, but it looked more like the site of a crime scene than anything welcoming. Blood was smeared and spattered everywhere, mostly clustered around the bodies of her father and brother. The eldest Ishtar had been tied to the wall, where he sagged pitifully, his frozen expression was exhausted and miserable. Isis had never in her life seen him look that way. His wrists had been rubbed raw, and, as she let her eyes follow the lines of his body, there were multiple gashes in his torso that looked to be stab wounds.

Rishid lay on his stomach, his back torn open by a whip, the skin absolutely shredded.

And there in the middle of the room — there was movement. Standing over Rishid was their younger brother Malik — though she instantly knew something was very, very wrong with him. He looked absolutely crazed; his pupils were so restricted that it was hard to tell that the remaining pinpricks were even there at all. His hair was raised off of the back of his head as if he'd either become an electric conductor or had violently disheveled it himself.

In his hands was a small blanket that he gently placed over Rishid's lacerated back.

Isis suddenly found herself retching.

That wasn't a blanket. It was the flesh of their father's back; she knew the second she saw the scars. Her eyes darted over to find that there were places along her father's side where the skin had been crudely torn off.

She threw up.

That certainly got Malik's attention (which, right now, was definitely the last thing she wanted). She stared up at him from the floor, dazed and shaking as she wiped the mess from her face. He smiled at her, and he managed to make even that simple gesture look completely deranged.

"Hello, sister. Finally decided to join us?"

Isis let out a hiccupped sob. "What have you done?!" She'd meant to scream, but instead it came out weak and terrified.

Malik laughed and it wasn't one she'd ever heard before, especially not coming from his mouth. He waved his free arm around the room in a proud sweep. (His other hand held the sacred Rod, she realized.) "I've tidied up the trash! They look better this way, don't they?" He turned and calmly took a step towards her, completely contradicting his own expression. He looked utterly mad.

Isis jumped to her feet faster than she ever thought to be possible on such wobbly legs. "How could you have done this?!" She did scream this time, but the response she got made her want to let go of her stomach again. Malik seemed to enjoy her reaction.

"Look at them, sister. Look hard," he whispered, and he fell forward onto his arm, which he now had supporting him from the wall just behind her. She hadn't realized she'd been that close to it herself until she felt it smack against her. She felt trapped.

Tears prickled her eyes and flooded over the lids and down her cheeks. She closed her eyes tight. She knew she shouldn't look — it was a nightmare, and it'd be best if she didn't remember the details.

There was a silent pause before she felt metal whack against her chin and it_hurt_. It jarred her out of her state and her eyes flew open. Malik had hit her with the Rod and lifted her head at the same time. "I said look at them!" he cried. Now he looked furious and she was too out of her wits to disobey just then. She looked, she looked at their father, and looked at their brother on the floor. Malik chuckled quietly when her trembling intensified. "It's your fault," he panted into her ear.

"_YOU_ did this, not _me_!" she sobbed. "How could you—"

He knocked her mouth shut with the Rod again and her teeth clacked uncomfortably (—had she felt a chip?).

"No, YOU did, sister. This is all _your fault_. You were _selfish_, you were _tired_ of seeing little Malik crying and whining." His tongue jutted out to slide against his upper lip. "You took him _outside_. You _knew_ what would happen, but you were just _so tired_ of him acting like that."

Isis shook her head as much as she dared and she could feel his hair against the tip of her nose. "No, that's not what I meant!"

"Then what did you think would happen? That _father_ was a stupid man? You_knew_ he would find out. You _knew_ he would kill Rishid."

The flashes of her and Malik — the real Malik, not this monster — entering the room to find their older brother bleeding to death on the dirty old floor, his skin loose with puss and—

"I didn't know," she said, her voice now shaking as much as her hands were.

"_Yes you did_," the other hissed and before she knew what she was doing, she had slapped him.

"I didn't know!" she screamed. The fear that would cut her up and skin her just as he had done with Papa came and went quickly.

Malik righted himself up like a broken doll and laughed. He laughed so hard that Isis was surprised his voice didn't give out. The pitch jumped around, high then low, unable to decide what direction it was even going. His eyes locked on her and she couldn't look away. Her spine felt numb. "How does it feel? Their blood is all over your hands. Can't you feel it?"

He grabbed her right wrist and the gritty sludge that consisted of blood and muscle and cartilidge sandwiched between their palms. She jerked her hand away — or tried. She winced as she heard and felt all of her fingers cracking and popping as he held strong.

"They'll haunt you forever," Malik purred. With the hand that held the Rod, he wrapped his arm around her back and pulled her close. "They _hate you_ for what you've done."

The more he talked, the more she thought that maybe it _was_ her fault. She sobbed again. "I didn't mean for this to happen." She wanted nothing more than to run to Rishid and have him bury her in his arms and robe, and protect her from these horrible images. But he was dead. Father had killed him and if he hadn't fully, Malik had certainly finished the job.

"I want my brother," she whispered. Her voice would go no louder.

"I'm here, sister," Malik responded in kind.

At first she thought he was going to bite her, but when he'd finished leaning in (she turned her head to the side to avoid him), she felt a wet, hot tongue trail up her cheek. The smell of the room burned her nostrils and her gut, and she thought that she might vomit again, hopefully on Malik this time. He deserved it. …Or did _she_ deserve punishment?

"You're so beautiful when you're suffering," the shadow of her younger brother said lowly, a mockery of seduction. "But... I should thank you. _Without you, I never would have woken up._" She felt the Rod's blade slice across her lower back, scraping the vertebra.

She woke up screaming.


End file.
